


Moroni Appears to Joseph Smith

by Pepper Espinoza (pepperlandgirl4)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blasphemy, Complete, Erotica, M/M, Original Fiction, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/Pepper%20Espinoza
Summary: “Joseph.”
I gasped at the sound of my name dropping from his mouth. It rolled off his tongue like thunder rolling down from the hills, like wind whispering over the eaves. It was both demanding and deferential. I could do no less than cower in the very presence of this angelic being, and yet, I heard the unmistakable note of love in his voice, as though he was calling out to a dear friend. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and a chill touched my spine. I wanted to hear him utter my name again and again until the end of the world.
“I’m here,” I whispered, pushing the air past numb lips. It was a wonder I could speak at all, my throat had constricted with such force.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While I was thus in the act of calling upon God, I discovered a light appearing in my room, which continued to increase until the room was lighter than at noonday, when immediately a personage appeared at my bedside, standing in the air, for his feet did not touch the floor. He had on a loose robe of most exquisite whiteness. It was a whiteness beyond anything earthly I had ever seen; nor do I believe that any earthly thing could be made to appear so exceedingly white and brilliant. His hands were naked, and his arms also, a little above the wrist; so, also, were his feet naked, as were his legs, a little above the ankles. His head and neck were also bare. I could discover that he had no other clothing on but this robe, as it was open, so that I could see into his bosom. Not only was his robe exceedingly white, but his whole person was glorious beyond description, and his countenance truly like lightning.—
> 
> From **Pearl of Great Price: Extracts from the History of Joseph Smith, the Prophet: 30-32.**

 

 

ii.

The light crawled over my flesh and behind my eyes, piercing the darkness until I could look right through my eyelids to the figure standing on the other side. I put my hand down, surprised to feel the familiar smooth floor beneath my palm. It seemed as though I must have been transported to another place, another world, but when I dared to open my eyes, I realized I  still kneeled in my own room. The man standing before me now was unlike any other I had ever seen, and his beauty stunned the breath from my lungs.

I kept my hands clenched at my side and my head bowed, risking only brief glimpses to study the terrible countenance that shone down on me with a kindness I couldn’t understand. My heart beat faster, and my lungs refused to cooperate, making me sound winded and exhausted. I often raced my brother, Hyrum, home from the fields, when our muscles were already watery from a hard day of labor, and the winner would be the first one to collapse in Mother’s garden, out of breath and rolling in the sweet, fragrant blossoms, panting between good-natured teasing. I felt like that now. Watery, pliant,

happy, tired, rejuvenated, and surrounded by the endless sweetness of roses and wildflowers. My blood raced hotly, rushing closer to my skin, and the tips of my ears burned, like when Elizabeth Harris sent me a knowing smile as we passed on the street.

“Joseph.”

I gasped at the sound of my name dropping from his mouth. It rolled off his tongue like thunder rolling down from the hills, like wind whispering over the eaves. It was both demanding and deferential. I could do no less than cower in the very presence of this angelic being, and yet, I heard the unmistakable note of love in his voice, as though he was calling out to a dear friend. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and a chill touched my spine. I wanted to hear him utter my name again and again until the end of the world.

“I’m here,” I whispered, pushing the air past numb lips. It was a wonder I could speak at all, my throat had constricted with such force.

“Joseph.”

I almost wept at the sound of it. No choir of angels could sound more beautiful. The note of love was only stronger now, and my heart twanged in response. The sound of each syllable plucked at my bosom, and I thought I must have heard the passing of the seasons and the sweet trill of the songbird.

Weakened by the exquisiteness, I dropped forward, prostrating myself at the angel’s feet. For he must have been an angel. I had called out to God for His guidance and love, for His forgiveness and grace, and in response He had sent this angel to call me by name and comfort me.

With my face near his feet, I realized he was not standing, but rather floating several inches above the floor. I couldn’t stand to look at his whiteness, and my impressions of him are only what I could gather from the brief glimpses. I could no more stare at him than I could stare at the glory of the sun, and I paid for every stolen glance with an uncomfortable burning. Yet the pain was worth it, because the angel was exceedingly beautiful. Despite his white hair and flowing robe, he was a young man. At least, he seemed to be a young man, not much older than my own eighteen years. I had never seen anybody, man or woman, with such fine, handsome features.

The patches of bare skin visible in the light—his wrists, his ankles, his chest—were flawless, like they had been carved from marble itself. I’d had my dalliances with the local girls, each one pleasing and welcoming in her own way, but none of them had ever inspired this sense of awe. I wanted nothing more than to touch the smooth skin of his toes, or press my lips to the curve of his ankle.

“My name is Moroni. Do you know me?”

I did not. Despite being extremely knowledgeable of my Scriptures, I had never heard of an angel called Moroni. The angels were supposed to be fearsome envoys of God. But this divine messenger was clearly human, and despite the lightning of his countenance and thunder of his voice, there was nothing fearsome about him.

“I come bearing a message from Heavenly Father. It has been four years since your vision.”

The first time I had called upon God to reveal the true path to His Kingdom, He had appeared to me with His Son, Jesus Christ. I had embraced the experience with all the innocence of a child, allowing His grace and promises to wash over me like a gentle spring shower. I had been cleansed and purified by His love, and though most of the people in town, and even some of my own family, had called me a liar, I never doubted the truth of my experience.

“Can I…can I make a request?”

“You may ask anything of me, young Joseph.”

There was another shiver of delight. I say shiver, but it was more of a quake. I felt it in my back and my chest and my loins.

“May I kiss you?”

“You may.”

I reached for him before he could rescind the invitation, cupping the bottom of his foot as delicately as one might cup a bird with a broken wing. I exhaled, my warm breath bouncing off his flesh and back to my lips. How was he solid? I didn’t understand it, but I couldn’t deny it. I was holding him while the light streamed over me, illuminating my skin and nails and every mortal imperfection I possessed. I wanted nothing more than to be pure in that light, but where it touched me, it showed only endless flaws. I wasn’t worthy to kiss this beautiful, divine being, even if he offered me nothing except the top of his foot.

My lips brushed him, and I thought of kissing a flower petal. I thought of kissing a cold stone. I imagined burying my face in a rushing river, sticking my tongue out to catch the snow, napping in the sun on a Sunday afternoon. I thought of the girls who let me kiss them and finger them under their skirts. The way their flesh folded so sweetly over my curious fingers, and the way they throbbed and writhed and begged me to stop while they gripped my hair and pressed my face between their legs. Desire stabbed through me, hot and sharp as a sword piercing me from shoulder to groin. I hardened, my manhood jutting from beneath my sleeping gown. I had only received permission for one kiss, and so that was all I dare take, but I let my mouth linger. Even when I had to take a breath or risk passing out, I couldn’t force my head up.

“Joseph.” The love in his voice was undeniable now. How could he love me? Did he not know me?

“I’ve sinned,” I whispered. “I’m not worthy to receive His message.”

“You’ve been chosen to bear this burden. He loves you that much.”

“I’m unworthy,” I repeated, my groin stirring even as the tears splashed against his feet, my lips not quite touching him. I inhaled deeply, longing to absorb his essence. “Make me worthy. Please.”

I released his foot finally and fell to the floor again, my brow touching the cool wood, my spine bowed in supplication. I’d experienced carnal desires many times before, and perhaps I had indulged in those carnal desires too many times. Perhaps I was far too physical to be used as a spiritual vessel, my flesh too solid, my skin too sensitive and my mouth too eager to find pleasure in new textures and tastes. But simply prostrating myself at Moroni’s feet provided more vexing ecstasy than a lifetime of languid afternoons with the dairy maids.

“You must submit to your God, Joseph. Body and soul.”

“Body and soul,” I repeated, rocking forward in my urgency.

He gripped me by the shoulder and bid me to rise. Once standing, I still couldn’t look into his face, though it was nearly even with my eyes. I averted my gaze, already feeling the final vestiges of my control snapping and breaking away. Tears scorched my face and I took a deep breath, horrified when it turned into a sob. I wasn’t sad or frightened. It was just the emotions bubbling up in my chest, forming greater and greater domes until they exploded and that burst of feeling had to find a release.

Moroni cupped my face with both hands, his touch true and strong. I expected him to burn my skin, but the warmth I absorbed into my cheeks and neck was exceedingly pleasant, like the first touch of sun after a winter of darkness. My knees trembled, and without his steadying hands, I would have returned to my submissive state on the floor.

“Look at my eyes.”

I didn’t want to obey. But I promised I would submit my will to hiss and I longed for the freedom that would grant. I longed for the eternal embrace, the euphoric promise of God’s divine love. It wasn’t enough that I could have anybody I smiled at, that my siblings regarded me as a gift, that myparents doted on me. I wanted to know that the Universe sang for me. And so I lifted my gaze and met his with more boldness than I actually possessed.

His eyes weren’t blue, or green, or brown. They weren’t any color, and yet, they were every hue, from a peaceful blue to a stormy green to the deepest, darkest abyss. I swallowed a great mouthful of air, trying to swallow another sob with it. I saw my own reflection in those eyes, as clear and sharp as a looking glass. As I stared, the image shattered, breaking apart into dozens of smaller views. Every image was my own face, at a different age, in a different place. My shoulders rose and fell rapidly, my heart beating an insistent rhythm in my ears. I didn’t understand everything I saw. I didn’t know every body I held, every hand I touched, every mouth I kissed, or every road I ran down.

But every image was true. I had no doubt of that. True and infinite, the patterns repeating themselves over and over, from now until the end of time. He cupped my face with large, gentle hands, cradling my head like I was made of something brittle. I forgot to keep a respectful distance, forgot the deferential way I had requested permission earlier. Without thinking, I reached for him, steadying myself against his large frame. His arm was solid beneath the robe, each muscle rigid and firmly defined. So different from the smaller, willowy bodies I was accustomed to. They were favored daughters and sheltered girls, but he was a warrior, sinewy body perfected in death.

“How do I know you’re a messenger from God and not the Adversary?”

It pained me to voice the question, but Lucifer had tried to stop me before. Before my first visitation, he caught me up in grasp and crushed me until I feared I would be lost forever. I couldn’t breathe, and there was nothing but darkness pressing in on my senses. The sun had been at its zenith, but my flesh had been seized with the worst sort of chill. I felt like the devil had marked me that morning, and it was his presence that hovering over me, guiding me and manipulating me into each vice. I only asked Moroni because I couldn’t trust myself.

“Do you have so little faith?”

“He tried to take me before.”

“I can’t answer your question. You must decide for yourself.”

“Faith,” I whispered. I lost the sense of where our bodies separated, the borders blurring together until his fingers seemed to dip into my skin. Both of us remained still, yet the space between our mouths disappeared, and I could feel the heat from his lips warming my breath. His eyes were alight with more images. I saw myself standing in front of dozens, of hundreds, of thousands and millions. I was exalted and honored, hated by the world with a fierceness that could only be matched by my followers’ love.

The story of Christ’s sojourn into the desert floated to the surface of my mind, and I remembered how Satan had tempted him with the promise of power and devotion.

“It’s God’s will, Joseph.”

“I can’t.”

“Humble yourself. Be as a child, trusting and honest. Open yourself to His power.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Close your eyes.”

I did and I felt myself dropping to my knees, falling to my back, fingers grappling pathetically for purchase. My eyes refused to open again, obeying Moroni’s will rather than my own, but I resisted. I could have been hurtling through the stars, rushing through the unknown cosmos and cold light to a distant planet. I could have been tumbling down, into the darkest pit, into the deepest, foulest caverns where not even the coldest light could reach. I fought ever second, turning away from the visions, weeping again.  I was lost and confused like a child, small and wicked. Too much in the world, of the world, to turn myself over to the spiritual realm.

And then I tasted something sweet. I parted my lips, tongue seeking more of the nectar coating my skin. My heart slammed against my ribs painfully, and that sharp blade I felt earlier twisted, embedding itself even deeper in my body. I gripped Moroni with both hands, the darkness behind my eyes erupting into bright light once again. Every muscle squeezed tight, the tendons in my neck and the back of my legs rising painfully. The press of his lips, the syrupy glide of his tongue into my mouth, teased more than satisfied. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted to feel every inch of him inside of me. I

wanted him to cleanse me, hollow my flesh, and replace it with the light pouring from him. I wanted to sink down and I wanted him to catch me, and in the final release, I wanted to be free of the flesh and blood that enslaved me.

“Your body is a temple unto God,” Moroni said, his voice in my head even though his mouth was still engaged with mine. “And when Christ returns, we will all be resurrected and made flesh again.”

I understood. We were made in His image. Hadn’t I witnessed that for myself? We were given His form, created in His delight and love. Flesh was just as important as the spirit, and perhaps it was not a sin to feel things so acutely, to be utterly attuned to the base desires and the thrill of the senses. The body and the soul needed to be one. But if I didn’t need to be free of my earthy body, what was this longing? What did I want from Moroni? From God Himself?

How could I explain feeling so full and so empty all at once? What was missing? What needed to be removed?

I broke away from the kiss. “Tell me,” I begged, sobbed, knowing I didn’t need to say anything at all. He knew my thoughts and the desires in my heart, my fear, my need. “Tell me.”

Moroni settled his body over mine. My eyes snapped open, and I realized I was on the bed, naked and drenched in sweat. My pulse throbbed at my throat and my stomach rolled and clenched, each spasm of the muscles eliciting a soft whimper. The light had faded from Moroni’s countenance, and he almost looked normal. Mortal. His eyes had settled to an amber shade, and his skin no longer glowed white, but rather seemed deeply tanned.

“You don’t know who you are,” Moroni whispered, and instead of sounding large and commanding, wise and loving, he was soft and marveling. He touched my pulse and trailed his fingers along my throat and down my chest, spreading his palm across my stomach before moving lower. My breath caught, hanging in my throat for a long, dizzy moment until he touched my prick. The thick muscle jerked towards his hand, and I had to bite down a moan. “You have no idea.”

“Please.”

“Is this the only way to reach you, Joseph?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You must stop fighting me.”

I swallowed a laugh at that. Fighting? I was laying in his arms, practically cradled against his chest, and trembling like a baby rabbit in the shadow of a hawk. How could this be described as fighting? To demonstrate just how little I wanted to fight him, I cupped the back of his head and pulled him into another kiss, sighing into the caress. The sense of flying returned, and this time I closed my eyes without waiting for an order. I relaxed against the bed, floating away from the mattress and bending into the heat of his touch.

Once, when I was five or six, I sat in a field during a lightning storm. The air vibrated with the promise of rain, and each flash of light blinded me, but I didn’t move. I sat on a blanket of grass and wildflowers, teeth shaking in my skull as thunder boomed in increasingly ominous tones. The clouds were an angry shade of black, rushing across the sky with frightening speed. Bolts of light reached down from the churning clouds, dancing around me in an increasingly tight circle, and every hair on my body had stood on end. I felt the electrical charge in my blood and behind my eyes, in the rapid expansion of my heart, and I waited for the rain. I don’t recall being frightened. It never occurred to me that I might be struck, though just the spring before there had been two deaths in the nearest town due to lightning strikes. It never occurred to me that nature would be treacherous enough to target me.

I searched for that fearlessness now, summoning it from the depths of my memory, until I could wrap myself in a cocoon of it, safe and ecstatic. Something shifted then. I felt the change, though I had no way of quantifying, of understanding. I couldn’t tell if there was something different inside of my chest, or if Moroni had simply adjusted his hold, or if a chill breeze had blown through the open window. Pleasure licked at my thighs and stomach, like a slowly growing wildfire, consuming dried branches and dead leaves as it travels through the woods. I thrust my hips, pushing myself against Moroni’s large hand. He flexed his fingers in response, squeezing my length until I saw stars bursting in stunning gold and red.

“More. More.”

I didn’t know if I was asking or telling, if I was the servant or the master. I only knew that the flames needed to be doused. Perhaps I was the master, because he responded by covering more of my body with his. He pinned me to the bed with his strong thighs and thick chest, his broad shoulders and long fingers. His prick was rigid and full against my hip, and his mouth no longer lingered over mine. He kissed at my jaw and my throat, pressed his lips to my chest, licked and nibbled until my blood was rushing right at the surface of the skin, making me flushed and red. He wanted me as much as I wanted him, and somewhere deep inside, I heard the echo of his voice and words like beautiful, and glorious, and exalted.

He loved me. This heavenly being, this angel, this vision. He loved me, loved my heart and my body, loved my spirit and soul. He loved me, and I didn’t know him. Or it might be better to say I didn’t remember him. There was a veil between me and knowledge, between this world and the spiritual kingdom. A veil that kept me from a full understanding of God’s plan and my place in His greater design.

I acted on instinct, allowing my body to move in the way it thought best. I fisted Moroni’s prick and guided him between my thighs, splaying my legs open in an ancient, silent invitation. I had never been in this position before—I was always the one being led to that sweet, secret place. But this felt right. More than right. Everything inside of me cried out for this. For completion.

There was no pain. Perhaps there should have been. Perhaps I should have cried out. Perhaps I should have remembered the story of Sodom, been beholden to the so-called natural order of things. But compared to the need for a greater knowledge, those seemed like such petty concerns. Moroni pierced me, filling me in an easy, smooth stroke. I lay in his arms, impaled and short of breath. On the second thrust, I was spinning into the sky once again, expanding into the heavens and flowing into the natural rhythm of creation.

 

The veil ripped asunder, and the knowledge I sought poured into me. I opened to it, rising to meet his body, dipping my tongue into his mouth, rocking against his hips. He split me open, ramming into me with unbridled power. I gloried in it, uplifted by the force I sensed rather than frightened by the sheer magnitude. My legs and arms wrapped around him, locking in a cage of my limbs and need. My heart shattered, cracked apart to release the darkness inside.

A different sort of light fell into the room. This from the moon. It cloaked Moroni’s skin, coaxing an answering gleam from the core of his body. I felt myself shining to match him, and in that broken, vulnerable endless moment, I understood it all. The plan. My purpose. The covenant. The promise of perfection and exaltation. Salvation in the infinite levels of God’s love.

When I woke up, the light was gone, and my sleeping gown was damp with sweat. There might have been a low ache below the waist, but I wasn’t sure. I blinked rapidly, expecting the brightness to return, but the night remained as dark as it was silent. On the other side of the room, my brothers slept soundly, their breathing slow and even.

I wasn’t ready yet.

He returned to me twice more that night, the light gathering in the center the room when my whirling mind had finally wound itself down. Each time he broke me down and left me with the same epiphany. I was not yet ready.

But I would be.

 


End file.
